Shadows Cast in Darkness
by runswithstars
Summary: She had to make a choice. What was right, or the man she had come to love, despite it all. She wasn't sure if he could be saved anymore. She wasn't sure if she could be saved either.
1. Destiny

The Imperial spacecraft traveled through the star system with its cloaking device on. It carried cargo aboard too precious to fall into Resistance hands.

A projector rested in Iona's lap, displaying a holo of the same star system they sailed through. She alternated between gazing at the holo and out the window at the distant planets they passed.

Her companion was a droid—somewhat old in model, but still sufficient enough to transport her safely. It was not, however, a talkative model, and Iona took solace in the silence, in the lack of false words or well-meaning guidance.

Iona was supposed to be studying her betrothed and his family, studying their planet and its culture and politics. After all, she was to be an asset to him, to help him take political leadership. Her Tarkin blood would be perfect for the task.

That same Tarkin blood, Iona knew, was the only reason she had any importance at all. No one would have ever batted an eye otherwise at the girl.

Never in her life had Iona been treated as anything other than a Tarkin. Even in her new family, she would still be just that.

Her droid companion and she had their own private cabin, which kept Iona isolated from others aboard the ship. She fantasized that the ship would be intercepted and boarded by pirates, and that she would be stolen away and wouldn't have to marry a man twenty years her senior, just to be used as a political tool and baby maker. They would whisk her away and she would learn how to fly and fight and survive. No one would care what her last name was—they would care only who she was. And the dashing pirate captain would fall madly in love with her after she saved his life from the Resistance, as of course he would threaten the peace.

"Mistress," the droid suddenly piped up with its lifeless monotone. Iona nearly jumped in her seat, startled out of her daydream. "You are experiencing enhanced levels of excitement and adrenaline unbefitting to the situation at hand. Do you require a light sedative?"

"No," Iona breathed hastily. "No. I am well."

"Very good." The droid turned back to facing forward, and might as well have turned itself off for all she knew.

Iona stood abruptly. "Excuse me. I shall return momentarily."

She walked past the droid and to the door. It clicked open, its mechanics in sync with the droid.

"I shall observe your vital signals in your absence," the droid informed her.

The door slid open and Iona nearly flew out of the room. She made it to the refresher and locked herself inside, breathing heavily.

After a moment of recollecting herself, Iona turned to the mirror. She should really wash up and tidy herself before meeting her betrothed. First impressions were important, and she needed to make a good one.

Her pale blonde hair was fixed in an elaborate up-do, makeup applied expertly to highlight her features. Her dress was both imposing and simple—the bodice fitted to her torso like a glove, accentuating her breasts, the skirt flaring out. Her shoes were high heeled and left her with alluring posture. It was all terribly uncomfortable.

Sometimes when Iona looked at her reflection, she felt a stranger in her own body. This was not her.

A sudden shake caused Iona to clutch the sink in front of her. It rattled the ship and turned it sideways.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she ran back to her cabin, despite the monstrous heels and the odd angle of the ship.

The droid inside opened the door for her and informed her of the situation as Iona rushed to the window.

"We are being attacked."

"By who? The Resistance?" Iona asked, trying to quell her excitement. Space pirates, perhaps?

"That information is not clear. This is not a battle ship, however. It would be wise to relocate to an escape pod and depart from there."

Iona's hopes deflated. She did not want to be married. She did not want to be in politics.

"What if they board the ship?" Iona asked, ignoring the droid's words.

"We will not be here if they do." The droid stood and grabbed Iona's wrist, dragging her out the door.

"No!" she cried, trying to pry her wrist out of the steel grip to no success.

The ship was hit again and warning lights and sounds flashed. People were running and screaming.

The droid found an escape pod and forced Iona inside. The droid quickly hacked into the pod's system and before Iona could stop it, the pod was released from the ship.

"Surely they'll see us," Iona reasoned. She wanted adventure, not death.

"The enemy is preoccupied with the ship. They will not care of one escape pod."

The droid was so sure that Iona tried to convince herself of the same.

The pod was reworked to take them to the planet of Iona's betrothed. She watched its advance with ever-growing dread.

* * *

The planet was mostly consumed by a sprawling metropolis. Iona hated it instantly.

Their escape pod was greeted by the authorities who, upon learning of Iona's identity and purpose in the city, hastily delivered her to the grand Porfchin estate.

 _Iona Porfchin_. The girl shivered.

The estate was grotesquely ostentatious. The inside was just as hideous as the outside. Iona kept herself from turning up her lip in disgust.

Falus Porfchin, her betrothed, met them in the entrance hall. He looked ragged and unhealthy, but Iona was not flooded with concern. She regarded him with cold eyes.

"Welcome, my dear Iona," Falus said with grandeur, despite his ill appearance. She noticed his sunken eyes appraise her body, his eyes lingering on her breasts, and a cold clutched at her heart. "I apologize for my appearance. Things have been very…stressed here as of late."

Iona cared not for this man's opinion of her, even though she knew that she should. Her fate rested in his hands. "Our ship was attacked on our way here. My droid and I barely managed to escape alive."

Falus's complexion, if at all possible, seemed to become even more ashen. "That is grievous indeed." He reached forward and grabbed her hand, kissing the back of it. "I am most thankful that you managed to arrive unharmed."

When he finally released her hand, she moved in behind her back where he could not see and rubbed it against her dress to remove his essence from her skin.

"Please, allow my servant to escort you to your rooms. You must want rest after such an ordeal," Falus said quickly, his eyes averting unconsciously towards a door in the grand hall.

Iona's eyes narrowed slightly. She knew when someone was hiding something from her—she had always been able to sense it. This ability was what made her valuable in the political game—she always knew when someone was lying or hiding.

"That is very thoughtful of you, sir. I should like to accept your offer," Iona replied coolly.

Falus looked relieved. "Excellent." A droid appeared and Falus bowed. "Excuse me."

Iona watched him walk away, reentering the door he had been so nervous about, and she was curious as to what was behind it. It must have been something to make him terrified. His level of paleness was absolutely sickly.

Iona placed a hand above her brow and stumbled.

Her droid noticed. "Mistress, you seem unwell."

She waved her hand at them. "I think I need some air. The events of earlier are taking their toll on me. Please, go ahead to our rooms. It would not help me if I was a burden."

The circuits were almost loud enough for Iona to hear as the droid debated on the best course of action.

"I will do as you wish, Mistress. This servant droid will be sent back for you to show you to the rooms."

Iona gave a grateful smile and a nod before walking towards the entrance. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the two droids disappeared beyond another door. She stopped and observed her surroundings.

It was strange that the entrance hall was so deserted. Iona walked quietly to the closed door that Falus had escaped behind. Even with her ear pressed to the wood, she could hear nothing.

Again Iona looked around. She knew what she could do, but she feared the repercussions should she be caught. Iona remembered the punishments she had faced as a child, and it was those memories that made her hesitate.

Her heart thudded loudly inside her chest, and it pulsated within her ears. She wasn't even sure if this would work. What had even made such an idea come to her mind?

The last time she'd done anything like it… Iona flinched at the memory, burying it deep down. Still, she hesitated. She shouldn't be doing this.

A deep breath helped to calm her racing heart some, and Iona closed her eyes, her hand unconsciously lying gently atop her neck. She let her mind get lost in a black abyss, reaching out, reaching for that tantalizing energy lying on the outskirts, waiting for her. Her body grew distant, the feelings in it numbed. There was only silence and nothingness. Deep breaths helped ground her, but also relaxed her body, allowing for its release of her mind.

From the other side of the door, Iona could feel it. She could sense the presence of several living beings. Their essences were small, dim, insubstantial. Until she reached one that was so vast her breath was stolen from her lungs. Iona was entirely entranced, mesmerized by this aura's strength and vitality, by its power and command. By its darkness. She was drawn in inexplicably, the darkness seductive and tempting.

This darkness had such a pull to it that Iona did not realize she had been discovered until the door swung open and her trance was broken. She caught herself on the doorframe before she fell inside.

"I can explain!" she heard Falus cry out.

Iona paid him no mind—didn't even glance in his direction. Instead, her vision was met with a black-clothed chest. Her eyes roamed up and took in the figure before her, including the black cloak and how not a trace of the figure beneath the armor was visible, not even his hands (for surely with that build it was a he).

Her eyes ended at the metal mask he wore, and she stared up into the part that shielded his eyes. Iona found herself as captivated by the physical man as she had been by his essence. His masked appearance certainly was befitting.

Falus broke the connection when he scurried to the pair. He nearly fell over himself trying to appease the masked man.

"Please, sir, let me explain. This is but a simple wench, and she heard nothing and absolutely knows nothing. She is a mere trophy wife gifted to me by an ally. There is hardly anything that goes on inside her head, so please do not be angry with her."

Falus continued rambling out his explanations, his excuses, his cruel words against her. Iona glared at him, her hands balled into fists. She prized herself on her still stature—if she were not raised amongst nobility she would have surely attacked him by now. This fumbling, bumbling man continued to belittle her existence. She could foresee in their married future an early widowing by poison.

How Iona would have loved to not be a lady at that point and claw out Falus's eyes, cut out his tongue, rip away his manhood.

 _What is stopping you?_

Iona stumbled back a step, startled. A man's voice had appeared inside her head—she was sure of it. She turned wide eyes to the masked man, whose mask was still turned towards her. He was not even acknowledging Falus.

Such a thing had never happened before, and while a slight fear overcame her, her curiosity was always greater.

Falus roughly grabbed Iona by the back of her neck and she couldn't help the wince that crossed her face. Instantly shame flooded her—she did not wish to appear weak in front of this man.

"She is completely loyal and would never go against me. Isn't that right, dearest?" The threat was very thinly veiled.

Before she had been sent away, her guardian had instructed her that her husband was allowed to have every liberty. After all, what was she but a woman? She was to be his possession, his property. Iona guessed that her tolerance would start now. Despite how much she wanted it, it would not due to disrespect her betrothed in front of his guests—especially powerful ones. She would surely be punished for it later.

This moment would determine the rest of her life.

Iona's eyes fell to the floor as Falus squeezed the back of her neck, awaiting an answer. Her eyes narrowed at the pain, though she'd known far worse in the past. Far worse.

She hated it, but nevertheless she parted her lips to respond in a placating manner—to begin her lifetime of groveling.

Before she could emit a sound, however, the pressure around her neck was gone. Her eyes flew up to see that Falus was floating above the ground, his face turning red, his hands clawing at his neck. She looked to the masked man to see his hand raised, looking like he was choking an invisible neck.

Both fear and awe filled Iona, and she liked nothing more than to see Falus choked to death. But her self-preservation was too high to let that continue.

"No!" Iona gasped, her hands enclosing the masked man's raised one. Her eyes flew to his, pleading, as she attempted to lower his hand.

 _He'll only punish me for this later._

Her head hurt with the effort she used to try to send that message to him.

The masked man stared into her eyes for a moment before his free hand grasped her wrists and removed her hands from his. He held her to the side before turning his attention back to Falus. His fingers tightened.

"This man has wasted his last breath."

The masked man's voice caused a shiver to run down Iona's spine and her muscles to clench. It was deep and rough and sounded almost metallic.

Falus's limp body fell to the floor, the sickening angle it landed in told her that he was dead.

Iona slowly turned her attention from her betrothed's body to the masked man, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through her.

"Will you kill me too?"

"No. You have a much different future ahead of you now."

The masked man walked out of the room, leaving Iona to notice that the other people present were stormtroopers. She hadn't even realized they were there. One of them motioned with their blaster toward the door, and Iona took the hint.

She followed the masked man out of the room and into the entrance hall, where he seemed to be waiting for her. The stormtroopers quickly filed out of the room.

"You will come with me," the masked man informed her.

"And if I don't want to?" Iona asked carefully.

"Would you rather stay here?" he countered.

Iona considered his question and looked around. This was not her home. She had no home anymore. She couldn't return to her family with a dead fiancée. They would just try to marry her off again, and the next time she wouldn't be so lucky.

"No," she told him, looking back at his masked face.

"Then follow me."

Iona did as he requested and followed him out of the estate, the stormtroopers circling them in a protective detail. Iona spared little of a second thought about her droid companion who was sure to be decommissioned once word reached her family of her disappearance.

As the group walked towards what appeared to be a hover shuttle, Iona was overtaken by the excitement. Her betrothed was dead, she was missing—presumably abducted, and presumably dead. She hoped that this masked man did not know who she was, and would not thusly demand a ransom.

Where would they go? What would they do? What would become of her? The possibilities swam in her head and she could not keep the smile from her face.

Inside the hover shuttle, the masked man sat in the back. Iona paused, unsure where her place was to be. The stormtroopers began seating themselves towards the front, leaving a noticeable space around the masked man.

The man lifted a hand and beckoned her toward him in a gesture that almost struck her as being a little lazy.

Iona walked toward him and sat down beside him.

The shuttle took off and she found herself looking out the window to avoid staring at the man beside her.

"Thank you," she murmured to him.

"You were destined for far greater things."

Iona turned to the man in surprise. "You must be mistaken. What could I possibly be destined for? I've been bred to be a political asset through marriage." She scoffed, despite it being unladylike.

"You do not yet realize what you are capable of."

She grew weary of his cryptic language, of his vague future-telling.

"Where are we going?" Iona asked him. It was a question that should have arisen much earlier, amongst others.

"We are headed back to base on a different planet."

Iona bit her lip. She hoped that planet wasn't anything like this one.

"Who are you?"

The man cut her a sharp look—at least she imagined he did behind his mask. He did not answer her question.

Iona jutted out her chin in challenge. "My name is Iona. Are you part of the Resistance? The First Order? A third party?"

"I am Kylo Ren."

* * *

 **Descriptions of places and surroundings isn't really my thing. So yay for your imaginations filling in the blanks! Also, if you want a face to pair with Iona, I'm picturing a blonde Juno Temple for her.**

 **I know I really shouldn't start another story, as my track record is not great, but I couldn't help it. I've already read most of the Kylo stories on here (so far 9...) and I had to add to it. Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Until next time!**


	2. Starkiller

Iona stilled, staring at the masked man. Kylo Ren.

Growing up in an Imperial family that had always been supportive of the Empire, it was no surprise when they pledged their allegiance to The First Order. Iona had heard rumors of the Knights of Ren—legends and hushed whispers. No one truly believed they existed, but it was such a wonderful fantasy.

This man sitting beside her must be part of that rumor.

Snapping her head to look back out the window, away from Kylo Ren, Iona tried to calm her breathing.

What could a Knight of Ren possibly want with her?

The rumors said that they could wield the Force, and while most thought that the Force was a mere fairytale, an old religion, Iona believed otherwise. Her grandfather had worked alongside Darth Vader and the Emperor, he had seen firsthand. She'd always been fascinated by it—that beings in the universe could control a special matter that only they could feel.

Iona felt so inconsequential sitting next to someone who could wield the force.

The rest of the ride on the hover shuttle was spent in silence, Iona looking at anything but Kylo Ren.

The shuttle took them to an airfield that housed a spaceship. It had been only a few hours since Iona had been on her previous spacecraft. It was amazing how much had happened, how much her life had changed in that short time.

Iona followed Kylo Ren and the stormtroopers out of the shuttle and into the spaceship. Each of the soldiers assumed their own stations, and she was left again wondering where her place was. The last thing she wanted was to be in the way, to be a burden—it would give the Knight a reason to dump her at the nearest hub.

This time, Kylo Ren did not invite her to join him. He disappeared somewhere on the ship, and Iona was left to her own devices.

This ship was not like the last one, which was more of a luxury cruiser. This one was built for battle. It was a little more battered for that, but it shot excitement into her veins.

Iona held on to whatever she could find when the ship took off. Her knuckles were white, and her hands and arms hurt from gripping a safety bar too tight. Once they were in space and flying at a much safer speed, she pried her hands off the bar, her muscles still tense. She had nearly fallen over in the takeoff; these heels would be the death of her.

Alone and unsupervised, Iona wandered around. Most doors were locked, and she did not have the security code. She found one cabin that she was able to access—it was a simple passenger room with seating.

Iona resigned herself to taking a seat and staring out the window again at the nothingness of space. She was once more cast into solitude, and it was beginning to grow weary for her.

* * *

The flight passed in relative boredom for Iona. She spent the time staring out the window, dozing off into a half-sleep, and reading things on her holo device.

When the feeling of descent began she held on and watched the outside for any hint of what was to come.

The planet was completely white and barren. Iona's brows knitted together in confusion. Their base was on an icy tundra?

Her second thought was that she had nothing with her but her holo and the clothes she wore. She was not dressed to be in the cold weather that an ice planet would offer. She'd freeze as soon as they landed.

What would become of her here? She doubted she would be much use to anyone.

Iona rose her chin in defiance of her thoughts. She was a Tarkin, and she would not belittle herself. Her grandfather was the right hand man of the Empire. Her family had been political leaders for generations. She was intelligent, clever, and beautiful. She would certainly not let them toss her out into the snow.

When the ship touched down on the ground, Iona made her way out of the passenger cabin and toward the landing door. Most of the stormtroopers were standing by, ready to disembark.

Iona held back behind the lot, hugging her arms around her torso in anticipation of the frigid air just beyond.

She felt a presence behind her, but before she could identify them or turn around, a weight was placed upon her shoulders. Her hands instantly clutched the material to keep it from falling off and she found it to be a dark gray wool cloak. Iona pulled it tighter around her, fastening it in the front, warming her already.

A glance behind her shoulder revealed Kylo Ren to be her benefactor.

Iona broke through her surprise with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Kylo Ren nodded his head in acknowledgment before descending the ramp, the door now full open and touching the ground. She'd been so distracted by the Knight that she hadn't even noticed that the stormtroopers had already let. Iona followed him quickly with the full knowledge that if she stepped in a pile of snow with these shoes, she would not be resurfacing.

What awaited them on the ground were _more_ stormtroopers and a serious man with orange hair and a dark uniform. He wasn't too much older than Iona, she surmised, and she thought he was rather good looking, despite the fact that he appeared as if he'd never smiled a day in his life. There was an aristocratic, noble air about him. His presence was commanding and striking in a different way than Kylo Ren's. This was a man whose green eyes sliced into a person and warned them that he was not to be trifled with.

"I take it the mission went…" the man trailed off when he noticed Iona. "Who is this?"

"Porfchin is dead," Kylo Ren replied emotionlessly. "This is Iona, his fiancée. She is under my protection." And that was all the Knight offered the stern redhead, who suddenly looked outraged. Kylo Ren walked past the other man calmly, Iona following close behind.

So too did the redhead follow. "What do you mean 'dead'? You were there to establish a deal. What happened?"

"He was not worthy," Kylo Ren answered.

"That does not give you the right to kill him and steal his fiancée without first consulting me."

The trio made their way from the hanger to the main building. Once inside, Kylo Ren stopped and turned sharply to face the redhead. Iona almost ran into him.

The two seemed to have a silent battle, both staring each other down—Kylo Ren from behind his mask. They were of nearly equal height, equal stature. Iona doubted, however, that the redhead could choke someone without touching them.

"You are not my master."

The redhead was not intimidated. "While you are in my base, I am."

Whilst the two continued to stare each other down, unrelenting, Iona stumbled her way toward a wall, leaning against it and off of her feet. Just as she had found support, the ground shook. Both of the men staggered slightly, catching their balance with ease. Iona was grateful that she'd made it to the wall beforehand—in these heels she would have surely fallen otherwise.

The redhead tilted his face slightly to the left, looking at the floor, his mind elsewhere. "On my way," he said, fingering pressing against his left ear. He looked back up at Kylo Ren and Iona. "I'll deal with you later." As he spun, Iona spotted a mechanism inside his ear, which must have been a communication device that he was contacted on. Iona wondered if it was a crash or malfunction. His coat rustling behind him, the redhead walked away with purpose.

Iona watched him go before turning to look at Kylo Ren. "Who was that?"

Kylo Ren just shook his head slightly and turned, striding off down the hall. Iona struggled to keep up. If the floor weren't so cold she would have taken off her shoes by now.

They twisted and turned through several corridors and winding passages. Iona was terribly lost.

Finally, Kylo Ren stopped in front of a door. He punched a code into the keypad beside it and it opened. He held out a hand for her to enter.

Inside was a simple residential room—a bed, a couch, presumably an attached bathroom, a dresser, and a little kitchenette. Minimalist, but functional.

In the doorway, Iona turned to face Kylo Ren. She hadn't realized until she'd turned how close they were standing, as he was also in the doorway. She craned her neck back to look up at him—about a foot taller than her. If he'd been unmasked, perhaps she would have felt something at their closeness, but as it was with his mask, he didn't seem very human at all.

"I don't understand," Iona stated. "Is this for me?"

"Yes," his rough, metallic voice responded. What did he look like underneath that mask? Was he a cyborg?

Iona opened her mouth to begin her barrage of questions, but before she could, Kylo Ren turned and started walking away down the corridor.

"Wait!" she called after him, though he did no such thing. "I have so many questions!"

"In due time," he said.

Lips parted in frustration, Iona glanced back at the room assigned to her. She understood he must be terribly busy, and he was likely to have his masculinity shredded a little by the redhead soon, but… "What am I supposed to do until then?"

* * *

General Hux was furious that Kylo had disobeyed direct orders. _Again_. With no care as to the consequences of his actions. Force-sensitives always liked to just go along with their feelings and instincts, instead of actually using their brains and doing what needed to be done. Hux didn't like every single thing he had to do, but sometimes he knew it was the better option—would lead to the better outcome.

Now he had to clean up Kylo's mess. _Again._ And Hux couldn't even discharge Kylo or throw him in a pit somewhere or have him killed, because that wasn't his department, wasn't _technically_ under his control.

If he had his way, it would be. Hux definitely believed in the Force, but he saw no use to it, no value. What one could do with a lightsaber could more easily be done with a blaster. What one could do with a mind trick could better be done with the power of persuasion and manipulation. The Force was a thing of the past, and its users were equally outdated.

Hux paused in his step as he stormed down the corridor.

He'd nearly forgotten about the girl Kylo had brought with him.

A growl built its way up his throat. What was she? A trophy? A toy? A concubine? What could Kylo possibly want with a small child like her? A mother-substitute?

Hux had left the two earlier to oversee the clean up of a TIE starfighter that had engineering problems, short-circuited, and thus blown up. Several men were wounded in the mishap, as well as a couple other TIEs.

That was all Hux ever did. Clean up other peoples' mistakes. Deal with their consequences. It was enough to produce the ever-present headache right above his eyes.

Continuing his stride down the halls, Hux contemplated on what to do not only with Kylo, but also with his girl. Kylo had never shown an interest in anyone before—perhaps something within her had sparked a curiosity in the reclusive man?

Unease and trepidation trickled its way past Hux's shoulders like a cold ooze.

Had Kylo found something new to obsess over?

May the Force help that girl.

* * *

It was a couple hours later—Kylo was clearly hiding from the commander, as Hux had been unsuccessful in locating him—when Hux ran across Kylo's girl.

She was aimlessly wandering the halls, looking lost and pitiful.

Hux sighed and stepped toward her, walking loudly enough to signal his presence to her.

The girl jumped and spun towards him. He could see her caution, but also her relief. Why was she unchaperoned?

"Hello," she said, with a slight but graceful curtsy. It struck Hux with surprise, until he remembered that she'd been Porfchin's fiancée, so she must be of aristocracy.

Hux nodded to her in politeness. He needed to smooth over whatever damage Kylo had done. Who even knew if the girl was here of her own free will? "My apologies for startling you. Why are you not with Kylo?"

The girl instantly looked downtrodden. "I haven't seen him since he brought me here. He deposited me in a room and then just…left. I waited for him to return for hours, before I decided to leave the room. You're the first person I've run across, and you don't know how happy I am to see you."

Sympathy wedged its way into Hux. "If Kylo left you in the living quarters then it is no wonder you didn't come across anyone else at this time of day. Do you require an escort?"

"Please," the girl said, grateful. "I don't know where I am at all."

Hux nodded before holding out his hand. "General Hux, Commander of Starkiller Base."

Iona took his hand and shook it with a firmness that again surprised Hux. "Iona." Hux waited, but no last name followed. "And…" she continued, looking embarrassed. "Forgive me, but… I'm afraid I don't know whether I am in the company of the First Order or the Resistance. Or perhaps neither?"

Hux's eyebrows rose. "Did Kylo really tell you nothing?"

"All he has told me of use is his name. From that I was able to infer certain things, but I'd be grateful for some straight answers."

Sounded like Kylo all right.

"Yes, this is the main base of operations for the First Order. Do you know what planet this is?"

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment again. "No…"

Hux nodded. "You'll excuse me, but I'd like to keep it that way. Security issues—you understand?"

She offered him a small smile.

"Would you like me to show you back to your room?" Hux offered.

"No!" Iona burst out. She immediately withdrew. "Sorry. I've just spent a lot of time alone lately."

Hux nodded before looking at her. Under the same cloak from earlier she seemed to be wearing a dress and heels. "I know just the thing to do."

Hux led them in a comfortable silence.

A couple of times Iona parted her lips to ask a question, but she closed them soon after, keeping it to herself. This man—this _commander_ —was already using his precious time to assist her, and she didn't want to bother him more than she already was.

Upon first impression, she'd guessed he was one to avoid. Now, however, she felt a sort of tether to him, a comfort in his presence. A safety. He seemed polite, professional. She still wondered if he ever smiled, but she imagined being the commander of a base did not give one much to smile about very often.

General Hux led her into what appeared to be a clothing storeroom. It was tended by an older woman whose hair was beginning to grey.

She bowed her head deeply when they entered. "General."

"Yula Lue," General Hux greeted her. "This is Iona. She needs some new practical clothing—a few pairs, as well as sleeping garments and other such necessities."

Yula nodded and took Iona by the shoulders. "Of course, General. You leave it to me."

Iona was steered into a separate compartment where Yula quickly closed the door.

"Now, let me look at you." Yula disposed of Iona's cloak and began taking measurements, inspecting her closely.

In only a few minutes, Iona was outfitted in a long-sleeved thermal shirt, a snug tunic, tight but flexible pants, and boots that came to just below her knees. All were in black.

Iona stared at herself in the mirror, her pale blonde hair contrasting strangely with her dark attire.

"My clothing is perhaps a little too snug. May I have a different size?" Iona asked, to which Yula tisked.

"Nonsense, child. You have been lucky in obtaining the General's attention, and it would serve you well to keep it. And to do that, we mustn't be stingy with what we've got, must we?"

Iona flinched and turned to Yula with wide eyes, insulted. "How dare you insinuate that I am worth only as much as my looks? And that General Hux is the kind of man to only care for such petty matters?" In truth, Iona knew not if General Hux was of such a shallow nature, but she felt the need to defend him after he'd been surprisingly kind to her.

Yula eyed Iona up and down with mirth. "Dear, what other use could you have? You are certainly no soldier, and the General wouldn't have bothered to get you outfitted personally if you were a servant."

The older woman moved to Iona to touch up some details—add a sash that would further accentuate Iona's breasts—but the girl slapped her hands away. "Don't touch me."

Yula bristled. "The only reason he requested you wear practical clothing is because he is a private man and modest about his business. Can't have everyone in the base knowing you're merely property."

Iona slapped the woman before storming out.

General Hux was waiting in the other room, unaware of what had just transpired. He looked up and was taken aback as Iona walked past him and into the corridor in a flurry.

"Iona," he called to her in the corridor, but she kept walking.

"Please, go back to your business. Don't let me keep you." Her words had a bite to them that he couldn't understand. He glanced toward the storeroom in concern.

* * *

Hux sighed as he sat himself in front of his desk. It was no wonder Iona had gotten away from him as quickly as she could.

After she'd left, instead of chasing after her, he'd gone back inside to question Yula Lue. The woman had at first tried to deceive him, but he'd threatened her into the truth. She'd assumed the girl was with him for his enjoyment, for his entertainment.

He understood why she must have been embarrassed and upset. He hadn't disliked his brief time with her, and now she probably thought very little of him.

It was no great matter, after all, Hux reminded himself. He had more important things to worry about and tend to that Kylo's girl getting offended or prickly. It wasn't his job to placate her or know of her whereabouts—Kylo was her keeper, not he. She shouldn't even be here. He should have shipped her off the first chance he got, or locked her away.

But when he'd seen her look so lost and downtrodden, he'd taken sympathy on the child. It would figure that something like that would backfire upon him. Hux should keep to what he knew and not go meddling in human affairs.

And then there was the matter of Kylo that still needed to be dealt with. The girl was just an added nuisance. Kylo needed to be taught a lesson, needed to learn that Hux's word was law in Starkiller.

First, of course, Kylo needed to be found.

* * *

 **Here's chapter 2. Hope you liked it!**

 **(I've been watching interviews and snippets on talk shows and the excitement cannot be quelled.)**

 **Until next time!**


	3. Questions

**_I have not seen The Force Awakens yet and will not until early January. PLEASE do not leave spoilers in the comments! And I apologize for the story not being made to fit the characters and events from the film yet. Soon._**

 **Also: There is a (rather gross, in my opinion) sexual innuendo briefly in this chapter. Just a fair head's up.**

* * *

All the hallways looked similar, but it didn't matter. Iona would find her way back to "her" room and when she got there she… she…

The truth was that she had no plan. Not really. She'd rashly accepted to go to another planet with a mysterious and lethal stranger, she was stuck inside a government base, and she had no answers or information about what was going to happen to her or who she had surrounded herself with.

She was a failure of a Tarkin.

Iona had never truly felt like she'd fit in with her family. There was always something just a little off about her, a little wrong. She didn't have the natural command or control like her family, didn't have the confidence or presence, the skill of manipulation and communication. She never quite knew what she was doing, never quite thought things through all the way. She was impulsive and thoughtless.

And she'd already been made a fool of here.

Her parents would disown her if they could see her now. Her grandfather would disown her.

She really was only good for her looks. Falus hadn't realized he'd been given the defective Tarkin.

Iona furiously swiped at her cheeks. She'd stormed away from General Hux in humiliation that had morphed into anger. And now she was drowning in her own self-pity.

Where the blast was Kylo Ren?

Trying to shake herself from this sudden gloom, Iona paused when she heard the sound of fighting. She walked to the nearest room to find the door open and inside a training center. The floor was matted, and dozens of weapons lined the walls. There were several pairs of men inside sparring, and Iona took a moment to observe them.

When Iona took tea with other aristocrat women, they often chatted of men. One such subject of their gossip was given the term of "tall, dark, and handsome" and Iona had rolled her eyes at them. But as she looked over the occupants of the room, her eyes met those of a man who fit that description perfectly, and her breath caught in her throat. He stared at her with nearly black eyes, his expression unreadable, shaggy black hair clinging to his face and neck from sweat. His body was lean and well-toned, power reverberating in his muscles, tensed and ready to pounce like an animalistic predator. Iona kept her eyes off of his bare chest, but with some degree of difficulty.

He was the first to notice her, and he simply stared at her. It unnerved her, and she opened her mouth to say something until his sparring partner noticed his distraction and turned to face her.

This other man, shorter and stockier than the first man with brown hair and brown eyes, looked her up and down lewdly and whistled, gaining the attention of the other men in the room.

While the brunette was staring at her, the predatorial man whose black hair nicely contrasted his pale skin spun and kicked his partner in the face, sending the lewd man sprawling onto the floor. He did not get up.

Iona's eyes flew back up to meet the black-eyed man. His presence stood out in the room, imposing, dominating. He sent shivers down her spine and she looked away from him toward the other men in the room.

She channeled her confidence and lifted her chin up. "Pardon my interruption, but would one you be so kind as to direct me to where I can find food?" Iona hadn't eaten all day—she wasn't even sure if it still was day. Maybe it was the day after. There were no windows around, and she'd lost track.

"Yeah, I can show you to the canteen," one man piped up from the back. Iona turned to look at him. "It's right in here." He gestured to his crotch and Iona took a step back in shock. Disgust plagued her features, her cheeks heating up as the other men laughed.

The raven-haired man with midnight eyes ignored the others and grabbed a towel from a stack of them before walking toward her. His previous violence made Iona cautious of him—his sparring partner was still lying on the floor, unmoving. The man nodded his head toward the door, gesturing for Iona to start walking.

She was hesitant at first, but she eventually relented and moved out of the room. Surely he would be the better choice as opposed to the other man…

As her guide walked out of the room, Iona felt a weight that almost suffocated her. She gasped and locked eyes with him once more, confused. He didn't answer her silent question—his face one of concentration, half-lidded eyes unfocused—but she heard several thuds and groans from inside the room. The weight crushing down upon her suddenly lifted, and she breathed in deeply.

Iona's mouth fell open and she made to move to the doorway to take a look inside to see what had happened, but the man put his hand up on the doorframe, right in front of her face, effectively stopping her. Her eyes slowly traveled up his arm to his face, where he was nodding forward.

He wouldn't even use his words.

Jaw clenching, Iona turned and walked forward, just as he had instructed. If he wasn't going to deign to grace her with words, then she'd remain silent as well.

Their entire walk—which felt like far too long for Iona—went by without a word spoken between them. The man had slung his towel around his neck, not bothered to be walking around shirtless and shoeless, his loose pants hanging low on his hips.

This was the most that Iona had ever seen of a man before, and she tried her best not to be transfixed by his glistening muscles. Although she didn't have much experience, her reaction to his body told her that his was of exceptional quality.

As they walked in silence, Iona's stomach rumbled loudly. She placed her hands over it and looked away from her guide, embarrassed. She grew more and more hungry as they walked, sure that this was the longest she'd ever gone without food before. By growing up in aristocracy, she'd never quite known the feeling before of being famished.

Eventually the two ended up in front of a canteen, a few stragglers inside. It was a fairly large room, buffet style food. She imagined it had already been sitting out for a while, but food was food and she was starving.

Iona turned to thank her guide, who had taken time out of his training to escort her here. "Thank…" she began, but noticed that he had already started walking away, and was probably out of earshot by now, "…you."

With a sigh, she turned to the canteen and walked in. No one really seemed to want her there, and she was regretting ever accepting Kylo Ren's offer.

* * *

Iona had spent her meal picking at her food and slowly eating it. The clock in the canteen informed her that it was rather late at night. She imagined that she had been in Starkiller for almost a day now—she'd arrived at Falus's estate late morning the day before, and the starship to this frozen planet had arrived early that morning.

The space ride had offered only a little sleep, and Iona hoped to get a good rest later that night. It was doubtful, as she was still anxious about being there when it seemed like no one wanted her there.

Perhaps she was just being dramatic. Nobody really even knew about her except for Kylo Ren and General Hux. And the General had tried to be nice to her. At least, she hoped that was his intention.

Sighing, Iona stood and deposited of her trash before exiting the canteen, the last to leave. Outside the doors, she was surprised to find Kylo Ren waiting. He was leaning against the wall, mask and hood on. Iona raised an eyebrow at this—did he never take them off? He was all dressed up in his many black, thick layers.

"And here I thought you'd forgotten about me," Iona said with an edge, holding her chin high.

"I see you found the outfitters."

Iona narrowed her eyes at him, but at least he was talking to her. "Yes. General Hux escorted me there earlier." Kylo Ren visibly stiffened. Iona was confused about this, but also pleased that he seemed vexed by the General spending any time with her.

"Getting well acquainted, then?" Kylo Ren asked. It was an innocent question, but she could hear the innuendo in his voice. She was surprised at his capability of sarcasm. Under the mask, perhaps he really was just like any other man.

"At least General Hux speaks to me. He was quite kind, actually. More than I can say about others in this establishment." Iona eyed him briefly before strolling down the hall, determined to exude confidence and indifference even if she had no idea where she was going.

Kylo Ren was about a foot taller than her, and his long legs caught up with her in no time. Soon he was walking beside her.

"Perhaps you should have stayed at home then with your tea and parties," he replied.

Iona stopped, Kylo Ren stopping as well. They stared each other down. She understood then why General Hux was so easily upset with this man.

"Let's get one thing straight," Iona warned him, the tip of her finger pressed into his chest. She titled her head to look up at him, eyes narrowed. "Don't think that you can talk down to me just because I am a woman. I come from a family that could tear you apart with the bat of an eye. I am _not_ one to be trifled with."

Kylo Ren grasped Iona's small hand in his large gloved one, squeezing it. "I shall talk to you however I please. Do you forget that I could break you without even touching you?"

At the threat Iona ripped her hand out of his grasp and glared up at him. "You brought me here," she seethed. "You can't continue to keep me in the dark."

Kylo Ren turned and continued walking, ignoring her. Iona wanted not to follow, but they both knew she couldn't find her way on her own. She reluctantly trailed after him, hoping that the distance between them would keep any further "conversation" from arising.

The pair stopped in front of a door, where Kylo Ren tapped in the key code. The door slid open.

"Do I get to know the code?"

"No."

Iona rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue.

"You will know in due time," Kylo Ren interrupted. He was talking about more than just the door code.

"No, you will tell me _now_ ," Iona demanded.

"Very well." Kylo Ren motioned toward her room with his hand, and she entered, expecting him to follow.

However, the sound of the door sliding shut made her spin around to find herself alone. She tried to open it, but he had locked her in from the outside. She banged her fists on the door.

"You cannot keep me prisoner!" Iona shouted. "Don't ignore me!"

There was silence. For several minutes Iona stood there, staring at the door. She fumbled with the button on her side of the door, pressing it repeatedly. Still, it wouldn't open.

Iona let out a choked breath. The room was dark, and it felt like she had lost her vision. She breathed quickly and slid down the door to the floor, trying to keep the hiccups in.

Her arms hugged her knees to her chest.

"Don't ignore me," she whispered.

* * *

Quite frankly, what General Hux really needed was to be cryogenically frozen for about a year or two. Maybe then he could finally get some decent rest and relaxation.

The new recruits were a sorry state.

The Empire had had the Imperial Academy to train stormtroopers, but the head of the First Order wanted there to be no planetary separation. And so cadets were trained in a separate area of Starkiller Base, allowing them to frequently come into contact with experienced soldiers.

And, of course, try his patience.

It would be another long night. Eyes closed, Hux rubbed his temples with his fingertips, trying to ease away the coming headache. He should station a private masseuse here.

Or, as his mother and grandparents certainly liked to pester him—get married.

Hux would rather not idle on that thought.

His hope seemed to be answered as in stormed Kylo in all his menacing flurry, slamming the door open. Hux looked up at him in irritation.

"Nice of you to finally make yourself present," Hux greeted. "Although I don't believe I gave you permission to interrupt me in my office."

"Stay away from my charge."

Hux waved his hand dismissively, sitting back in his chair. "I can never understand a word you say when you wear that blasted mask. No need to strike fear into the hearts of men here. If you wish to speak, I'd like to see your face," Hux said calmly.

Kylo took his helmet off with little care, revealing his disheveled raven locks and glaring dark eyes. It would have made anyone fearful for their lives—except Hux was used to the moody Knight by now.

"Excellent," Hux said, clasping his hands together on his desk. "Now, why the sudden interruption? I can hardly think that it's because you wish to reveal your plan for the girl to me."

"You will stay away from her," Kylo warned, pointing at Hux.

Hux hummed, studying Kylo. "Why the intensity? I merely got her some decent clothing—no thanks to you. The girl was wandering around in a frock and heels. Hardly suitable."

"That is my business, not yours."

A single elegant eyebrow rose on Hux's face. He regarded Kylo with interest. "My, my, I've certainly never seen this before. Why the possessiveness over this child? Got special plans for her?"

Kylo pursed his lips, a guarded look crossing his eyes. Hux knew that look well.

"I took pity on the girl—you abandoned her as soon as she arrived. Whatever your intentions are for her don't really concern me. I will warn you, though, that she needs answers. Otherwise she will not trust you—or anyone else here—and I will not have someone in my base who is not loyal to the Order. It is not my place to give her guidance, but if you fail then I _will_ take over. Her being here cannot jeopardize us. So either you take the girl that _you_ brought here under your wing, or she will be disposed of."

Hux could tell that Kylo was keeping his temper in check, such a difficult thing for him. Kylo was an emotional creature, and when he felt something deeply, you knew it. It was not easy for him to control his emotions, especially his anger.

"I understand," Kylo gritted out through clenched teeth, his eyes like molten obsidian, burning to the core.

"Good," Hux said with a nod. "I trust that you'll explain things to me soon."

Kylo put his helmet back on before storming out of the room in the same fashion he'd stormed in earlier. He gave Hux no answer, but the General was not perturbed.

"Lovely chatting with you, Kylo," Hux called out after him, just to annoy him. "We should do it again sometime."

Hux turned to the paperwork in front of him with a small smile gracing his lips, eyes crinkling in humor.

* * *

Kylo wearily approached Iona's room. He knew that he needed to inform her eventually, but Hux had provided the extra incentive to do it now.

He typed in the code on the pad next to her door and it slid open to a dark room. Kylo dimmed the lights on to find Iona lying on top of the bed, fully clothed in the same attire from earlier, missing only her shoes.

Kylo cleared his throat, feeling slightly awkward.

"Iona."

She hummed and snuggled further into her pillow.

Kylo pursed his lips in annoyance. "Iona," he repeated, slightly louder than the first time.

An eye popped open, and then her head rose to see him. She squinted and blinked a few times before resting her head back down on her pillow. "Go away."

"I've come to talk to you."

"Oh really? What changed your mind?" Iona asked sarcastically from her pillow.

Kylo took a deep, soothing breath. In and out.

He would need to meditate later.

"If you would rather not know, then I can live with that quite easily."

Iona sighed loudly and propped herself up with her elbows. "Fine," she said, looking at Kylo with no-nonsense eyes. Her blonde hair was a mess, and as Kylo moved closer, he thought her eyes looked red. "I'm all ears." She perked up a little. "Do I get to ask questions?"

"I suppose."

Sitting up, Iona narrowed her eyes. "Will you answer them?"

"We shall see."

She sat up straight. "Alright, first question: Will you take off your helmet?"

Kylo was startled. "No."

"Why not?" she was genuinely curious. "Do you need it to survive?" When she got no reply, she continued. "I don't know what you brought me here for, but if we're going to get to know each other, and if you don't need your helmet to live, then I should be allowed to see your face. It can't be that bad."

"No," Kylo repeatedly firmly.

Iona sighed. "So stubborn. You've seen my face—it's only fair. How am I to trust you if I can't see you? I don't even know what race you are, or how old you are."

"Next question."

"There's no need for you to be shy, what with the powers of the universe at your disposal and all," Iona said, a small smile toying on her lips.

She was teasing him. Flirting with him? Kylo didn't know how to react to either.

Iona shrugged. "Very well. I see you've got a reputation to keep." She stood, suddenly serious. "Why did you bring me here? And why have you been ignoring me? What will become of me here?"

Kylo answered the most important question. "You are sensitive to the Force, one of the rare individuals who is acutely in-tune with it, and I have brought you here to train you in its ways."

They stood there in silence, staring each other down. Except Iona wasn't exactly seeing Kylo Ren. She should be angry or ecstatic or disbelieving—she should be spouting off the other dozen questions she had left.

Instead, she just felt numb.

On habit, she shut down her mind and body to protect herself. Her head grew foggy, her eyes unseeing—she heard his voice, and heard herself monosyllabically respond, but there were no words. Everything felt light years away. Everything felt as though she was in a dark hole in the ground, far beneath any living thing.

Kylo Ren left, and Iona couldn't remember just what they had talked about. She was sure it must have been important, but her mind could not bother to retain anything else or pay attention.

Alone, she fell to her knees. Her hand clutched at her throat.

She couldn't breathe.

* * *

 **Some things will be revealed in the next chapter. I'm worried that I'm making Iona inconsistent; I might need to go back to earlier chapters and tweak a couple things about her character.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed!**

 **Until next time! :)**


	4. Nightslayer

Iona had always been able to sense things—nothing spectacular, mind you, but little things. She knew when someone was coming, knew special places to hide where others wouldn't be able to find her. And if she tried really, really hard, she could feel what other people were feeling.

At the age of seven, it had yet to strike Iona that she was in any way different—she was under the impression that these things were normal, that everyone could do them. Although it was nice at times to imagine herself special. Iona liked to pretend, to fantasize. She often lost herself in her daydreams.

Mrs. Callonia Tarkin was not a happy woman, but she was content enough with her station in life. She'd married for wealth and power and that was exactly what she had gotten. She often stayed out of the way and minded her own business—playing card games, socializing with other gentlewomen, managing the household, writing letters. She was of the firm belief that outdated ways and methods were classiest.

One afternoon, when Mrs. Tarkin was replying to a letter, Iona entered and observed her mother. Mrs. Tarkin was always reserved—always. Strong, noble women didn't show emotion, didn't show weakness. Iona had always known her mother as a stark, stern, unemotional woman, whose feelings should have been impossible to guess.

"Mama, why are you sad?"

Mrs. Tarkin looked at her daughter in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're sad."

The woman bristled. "What a ridiculous notion. Don't make things up."

"But I'm not." Iona came to stand before her mother. "I can feel your sadness."

Mrs. Tarkin stared at her daughter as if she were a stranger. "What did you just say to me?"

"I can feel—"

Mrs. Tarkin slapped Iona across the face, blind-sighting her. Iona stared in utter shock.

"Don't you ever spout such nonsense again; do you hear me?" Iona nodded mutely. "Now go to your room—you've just forfeited supper."

Iona didn't understand why what she was doing was a bad thing. Couldn't everyone feel others' emotions?

The next few times when Iona concentrated and could feel the emotions of other people, she kept them to herself. When her mother was sad but didn't show it, when her father was angry but kept it in. Feeling their emotions and bottling them up along with her own was so very lonely.

Eventually, Iona actively stopped trying to sense others' emotions. One day, she simply forgot how to do it.

* * *

Halwell and Callonia Tarkin had two children—Jura (the heir) and Iona (the spare).

Jura was seven years older than Iona. She was very pretty, proper, well-mannered, respectful, and intelligent. She knew just what to say and when to say it. She was shaping up to be the perfect lady, hostess, and companion. She was betrothed to a senator by the age of fifteen, well on her way to becoming a senator herself. Her fiancé would marry into her family and take the Tarkin name.

Everyone was always so very proud of Jura.

Iona _loathed_ her sister.

In company, Iona was ignored in favor of Jura. Alone, Jura ignored her too.

Except when she was being cruel.

Jura had a knack for being heartless when no one was looking, especially toward Iona. She would spit venom from her perfect lips. While Mr. and Mrs. Tarkin hardly ever touched their children—for affection or discipline—Jura was the exact opposite. She would beat Iona, and the younger girl would never know why. Pleads and crying never stopped it—informing her parents did nothing. Fighting back seemed to make it worse.

Nobody ever listened to Iona. Nobody ever saw Iona.

Nobody ever cared for Iona.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to access holos containing information of Jedi and Sith, despite her parents' ban on it. There were historical programs containing actual footage as well as reenactments and philosophical discussions. In her ninth year, Iona developed a fascination for the two opposing sides of the Force. She found herself often wielding sticks she picked up on the grounds and combatting invisible foes, slashing through them easily with her "lightsaber."

This carried on for a good few months until she was caught.

Iona's mother was hosting a social gathering. Bored and barred from the party, Iona had snuck off to battle. A guest had seen her out in an abandoned part of the estate's grounds and had informed upon her, thus inflicting the wrath and mortification of her parents.

"But Father, there was no harm in it."

Mr. Halwell Tarkin said nothing, just kept marching Iona down flights and flights of stairs.

"It was just a bit of fun. I don't understand why you and Mother are angry."

Still nothing. Iona was beginning to get frightened.

"Where are we going? Father? Why won't you speak to me? Please?"

They reached flat flooring. Mr. Tarkin walked Iona down the dark and musky corridor.

"Father?" Iona asked weakly. Mr. Tarkin was forcefully pulling her along at this point, his hand on her wrist, bruising it. She dug her heels in, but she was so small.

At the end of the corridor, Mr. Tarkin opened a heavy steel door and revealed a small dark room.

Iona leaned away from the room, straining her father's grip on her. "What is that? What's in there? Father?"

She was easily tossed inside before she knew it, scraping her hands and knees on the hard cement floor. Iona looked up in time to briefly see her father's faint silhouette before the door slammed shut with a loud, resounding thud that Iona felt to her very core.

The room was plunged into darkness.

Iona stumbled to the door and pounded on it. "Father! Father, please! Tell me what I did wrong and I can be better! Please don't leave me in here! Father!"

She pounded so long that her hands turned raw; yelled so loudly that her voice turned hoarse; cried so much that no more tears would come, dried upon her cheeks, sobs stuck in her throat.

Never before had Iona been in such darkness. She turned her back to the door and stared out. There was no way of knowing what was inside, but Iona thought she heard and saw things—shapes and noises in the dark.

Iona fell into a corner, curling into a ball on the hard, cold, dirty floor. She took shaky breaths, eyes squeezed shut, head ducked down under her arms.

The darkness closed in on her, suffocating, encompassing, devouring. It was a heavy blanket, pressing down upon her and snuffing out everything she was, leaving her exposed and breathless.

* * *

Iona must have been dreaming, for she found herself suddenly in a meadow, although she didn't remember falling asleep. She'd never dreamt of a meadow before, but it was rather lovely and she took to exploring it. The land was full of grass and flowers and trees, the sky blue and bright. A slight breeze rustled the branches, the sound of birds lightly chirping in the distance, though none could be seen.

Iona fell into a puddle of flowers, giggling as she rolled around in them. Eyes closed in contentment; she opened them briefly and caught a glimpse of dark storm clouds just beyond the treetops. Her smile faded and her curiosity piqued.

As she strolled through the lush greenery, towards a darkness that didn't belong, it struck her as odd that she came across no other living thing. No animals, no bugs, no people. Nothing but her and the meadow.

She had to climb a small mound, but she was neither weary nor out of breath when she reached the top. The dark clouds hung thickly over the bottom, and a bit of fear weaseled in. Iona didn't know what was down there, didn't have anything to defend herself with, didn't have anywhere to run.

The wind whistled and howled down in the shrouded valley and Iona shivered.

She glanced behind her at the comfort and safety of the meadow before making her decision.

She descended.

At the bottom, there were still trees, though they were less lush and friendly. There were still flowers, though they looked a little less pretty and a bit more prickly.

Iona walked further and further, until she could no longer see the meadow or the green hill leading to it.

In front of her was a wasteland, scorched and barren. Nothing grew—nothing was even around to be dead. There was just an absolute nothingness. Deep, dark clouds hung over the land, shadowing it. Iona was ready to turn around and return to the meadow and forget that these badlands existed. This was not somewhere she wanted to be.

She was in the midst of turning when she noticed a lump. Her eyes squinted.

Iona couldn't help but investigate. As she moved closer, the form began to take shape, until she could see that it was a person.

Cautiously, she approached. It looked like a boy, his knees pulled up and held to his chest by his arms, head resting inside his self-made cocoon.

"Hello?"

The boy's head whipped up, eyes wide as he regarded her. He looked older than her, his limbs lanky. Shaggy black hair, nearly black eyes. They stared at each other for some time, studying.

"Are you alright?"

The boy cleared his throat. "How did you get here?"

Iona pointed behind her. "Through the meadow. Why are you here? It's much nicer back there."

The boy grimaced and ducked his head down, looking glumly at the dry and brittle ground. "I'm not allowed into the meadow."

"Nonsense!" Iona stooped down and grabbed his hand, tugging him up.

The boy stood with much hesitance. He let the smaller girl drag him, his feet kicking up rocks, slowing them down. He made no effort to lift them. It was as if gravity weighed so much more heavily on him.

"You'll love the meadow—it's beautiful and peaceful. I could spend forever there."

"I don't think I know what peaceful feels like," the boy mused.

"You've had action?" Iona asked, terribly curious. Her tugs on his hand were more insistent now. "I'm awfully jealous. My life is so boring. I'd love for action—to explore and fight and discover."

The boy made no comment, simply pursing his lips and trudging on.

When they reached the meadow, Iona walked across its border with ease, but the boy's hand wouldn't go through. An invisible barrier kept him out.

Iona stared at his hand in confusion, pulling relentlessly. "What? Why won't it let you come in?"

"I told you," the boy said, trying not to sound sad, resigned to this knowledge. He didn't know why he let Iona keep tugging.

"That isn't fair! I was allowed to go on your side."

"I've done things too horrible for such a lovely place," the boy announced.

Iona stared at him curiously. "You're just a child—what could you have done?"

The boy bristled. "I'm not a _child_ ," he sneered. "I'm a man."

Iona smiled. "You can't be more than a few years older than me, and I know I'm still a child." Iona was absentmindedly swinging the hand she still had ahold of gently, just past the barrier. "Is that why you were upset—because you're stuck over there and you're no longer a child?"

The boy raised a thick black eyebrow humorlessly at her.

"I know that I'm dreaming," Iona continued on, "which is odd. And it certainly doesn't feel like a dream. I've never been here before. Have you?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. And you're asleep when you come here, so I guess technically you _are_ dreaming."

"But what _is_ here? Are you real? How can two people share the same dream? I don't remember ever meeting you before. How did I even get here?" Iona sat down, causing the boy to sit down on his side, their hands still linked.

"The Force brought us together, but I don't know why. Our fates are linked."

"The Force?" Iona perked up. "You mean like Jedi and Sith? _That_ Force? How exciting! I didn't know I could access the Force! Does that mean I get to have a lightsaber? Can you imagine— _me_ with a lightsaber? Do you have one?" Iona spoke rapidly and animatedly.

The boy watched her, finding her ceaseless babbling more endearing than annoying, surprising himself. She was far different from the other children around him, or anyone, really. He liked that.

"Answer my questions, _please_ ," Iona begged, drawing out the last word. "Are _you_ a Jedi? Or a Sith? I think I'd like to be a Jedi, but I don't know if you can really choose. Does the Force decide that for you? To think that I have access to the Force…"

The boy thought he could hardly be expected to keep up and answer all of her questions, so he didn't try to.

Suddenly, Iona startled him by gasping, her eyes going wide. She squeezed his hand. The boy tensed, worried—was her meditation being aggressively interrupted? Was she in danger?

"I just realized I haven't asked your name yet!"

The boy was so taken aback that he laughed, for what was the first time in a long time.

Iona narrowed her eyes at him and pouted. "I know not asking your name was rude but you're being ruder right now. Stop laughing at me." Even if she did like the sound of his laugh.

Iona, however, was wretched at holding grudges, and soon she smiled at him. "I'm sure if you did some good things, you'd be allowed in the meadow. A laugh that nice can't belong to a lost cause."

The boy's face dimmed, knowing that it was hopeless. He shook his head slightly. "I live in a world of night and shadows."

Iona smiled the sweetest smile the boy had ever seen, and it made him feel warmly inside his cold world. "We shall call you Nightslayer, then." She squeezed his hand. "So that one day, you can be on this side." _With me._

The boy was amused and took her words lightly, but humored her all the same. "Very well, Summer Child."

Iona stuck her tongue out good-naturedly. "If I'm a child then you are too."

The boy rolled his eyes and bit back a smile.

"Will you teach me to be a Jedi?"

The boy bit his lip in hesitance. "I don't know how to be a Jedi."

"Are you a Sith, then?" Iona sat up straighter, more alert.

The boy frowned. "No."

"But you _do_ know how to use the Force?" Iona clarified.

The boy nodded, looking proud. "Yes. I'm something of a prodigy."

Iona couldn't help the fond smile at his smugness. "Where do you live?"

The boy pursed his lips, a guarded look overtaking his eyes. "Somewhere very, very cold."

"I've never been to a cold planet before, or seen snow. I'd love to someday. My planet is always so mild."

"Do you live with your parents?"

Iona's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Of course—don't you?"

"No…" Before Iona could offer any sympathy or bombard him with new questions, the boy continued. "What is your family like?"

Iona flinched and took her hand back. She subconsciously wrapped her arms around herself, as if the hug would protect her, give her comfort. It didn't.

"My father locked me in a cellar. I don't know why… That's where I am now. It's so dark and empty. I hate being alone, but I'm always alone. They always ignore me and lock me away." Iona took in shaky breaths, trying to steady them but failing miserably. "My family hates me, I think…" She tried not to tear up, but she did anyways, her voice choking. "I don't know what I did wrong, and they won't tell me. They hardly will even talk to me or look at me…"

She was shaking, and the boy was trying to penetrate the barrier to get to her to no avail.

Iona stared at the boy, wanting to memorize his face, in case she never saw him again. "I don't want to wake up," she cried. "I don't want to go back."

Ignoring proper decorum or manners, Iona flung herself past the boundary and into the boy's chest. She wound her arms around his neck, crying. The boy's arms held her to him securely.

"I'll find you," the boy vowed darkly. His eyes held black flames, narrowed under thick black brows, his upper lip turned up in anger. He hugged Iona tighter to him.

Iona began fading from his grasp. "No!" she cried, but soon she was gone, and neither she nor the boy could stop it. He cried out for her after she disappeared, staring at the space she used to occupy, remembering the feel of her in his arms, holding his hand.

It was the first friendly contact he could remember ever really having, and they were still practically strangers.

His hands tightened into fists, his expression withering. A storm raged in the badlands behind him.

"I'll find you."

* * *

Iona woke inside the cellar to the door opening—a place she would come to know much more in the following months. Iona must have been in there for hours, and she clung to the dream—to the boy—in her memory as she was wordlessly escorted by a droid back to her room.

But, try as she might, she could not find her way back to the meadow, the badlands, or the boy named Nightslayer.

And, in the coming years, they all faded to just a dream she struggled to hold on to, a distant, fleeting thought of sunshine, dark eyes, and strong arms keeping her safe, promises lingering in the air.

Soon those would be gone too.

* * *

 **Still haven't seen The Force Awakens yet! Soon, my friends. Soon.**

 **I hope you liked getting to see something of Iona's past. This is part 1 out of 2 of her history. It was all going to be just one chapter but then I had too much fun with the dream sequence and it ran a little long. :D I also hope you liked her past being intertwined with a certain someone. Hint hint. Wink wink.**

 **Reviews are welcome! I really appreciate receiving your feedback, and I keep it in mind. Thank you for reading.**

 **Until next time!**


	5. Summer Child

Sometimes, when Iona was on the cusp of sleep—when she was disoriented but still aware, reality distorted between conscious and unconscious—she thought she could hear a laugh. It was light, and distant, but there was something warm and vulnerable and broken about it that made her want to wrap it up in her arms and hold it close through the night.

She clung to the name Nightslayer for so long that eventually, she remembered the name but nothing else, and couldn't understand what the name meant or where she heard it. She'd looked through books and holos, but nothing. No one.

Nightslayer didn't exist.

Iona didn't notice exactly when it started, but after a while, she realized that she didn't dream anymore. When she slept, it was simply quiet and darkness, and then she was awake.

That might have been the beginning of it, the start of slowly and unknowingly losing bits and pieces of herself. The years before the name Nightslayer lingered in the back of her mind were difficult, but the years afterwards would be a further test upon her will, upon her character.

Often, she wondered if she would continue losing who she was until, finally, there would be nothing left.

Iona Tarkin wouldn't exist either.

She was already on her way there.

* * *

When she was thirteen, Iona discovered that if she concentrated, she could move things. Just small things at first, and not all the time. Sensing others' emotions was but a faint memory in the back of her mind, but _this_ … This was far better, far more tangent.

And, as it turned out, far more dangerous.

During her long lessons, when the instructor droned on and on, Iona would zone out and concentrate on one of the books in front of her instructor. It would move slightly, and the older woman wouldn't notice.

The first day this happened, Iona had merely just been staring at it, imagining it moving. She had nearly startled out of her seat when it really did. A few seconds was all it took to convince herself she was imagining things, but when she managed to topple a stack of books onto the floor, Iona knew.

She was old enough now to realize that this wasn't normal.

From then on, she did it in secret. Iona wanted to give her parents no reason to send her back to the dungeon cellar, to the dark room that would make her go blind, make her go insane.

The shadows always took shapes in the darkness there.

By fourteen, Iona had managed to keep her telekinesis a secret. She counted herself lucky, until one afternoon, when she sat in her bedroom, staring at her hairbrush. Her eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted so tightly that the skin on the sides crinkled and hurt. She pursed her lips and concentrated as hard as she could.

The door opened, and Iona's yes flew to the intrusion. And, as it so happened, so did the hairbrush. It glided over Mrs. Tarkin's head and hit the wall behind her in the hallway.

Iona stood, knocking her chair over, staring at her mother. Terror coursed through her veins, chilling them, her heart pounding in her throat. "Mother…"

Her mother looked at her like she was some alien creature, an inhuman beast. A _thing_.

The door slammed shut and Iona heard it lock. "No…" Iona breathed, running to the door and jiggling the handle. It wouldn't budge. "Mother, mother please! I can explain! It's not what you think it is! Please!"

Breaths came quickly and shortly, and Iona backed away to her bed, her hands shaking, tears caught in her throat, behind her eyelids, too scared to fall.

One prison for another.

* * *

The Black Market was a tragic thing. One could have never sold or purchased such an invention as the electric collar in acceptable society. But, then again, Mr. and Mrs. Tarkin were desperate.

Iona had been reading history articles on her holo when there came a knocking at her door. Dread instantly filled her, but she answered it anyways. She felt relieved when it was only a droid.

"Miss, your presence is requested in the parlor."

She didn't have much choice. Turning her holo off and setting it on her bed, Iona followed the droid downstairs to the parlor. As she approached, she couldn't shake the horrible feeling clutching her gut.

Inside, Mr. and Mrs. Tarkin awaited her, as well as a strange bespectacled man.

"You wanted to see me?" Iona asked, entering, her eyes darting between the three.

"Iona, this is Dr. Harrow," Mr. Tarkin said. "He's come to offer his services."

Eyebrows raising, Iona made no further steps inside the room, standing just by the door. "Services?"

"Assistance with your problem."

Iona's breaths grew shallow. "Problem?" she asked timidly.

"Don't play ignorant, Iona. You're ill and Dr. Harrow is here to make you better, to make you more of a proper lady," Mrs. Tarkin said.

And then they pulled out the collar. It was metal and thin, but seemed of sturdy build. It would fit around her neck, and there were little bumps on the inside. Iona didn't want to find out what it was for, what it would do.

She turned and ran.

"Stop her!"

The droid was faster than expected, catching up with her instantly. She'd never realized that her parents had purchased bodyguard droids. It restrained her arms behind her back, and her human skin and bone and muscle were no match for its metal.

The three adults swarmed her in the hallway, trapping her.

"Now Iona, be a good girl and hold still. This is for your benefit. Be grateful."

But she thrashed this way and that violently, snapping at them with her teeth like she was an animal. She would not let them collar her like one, turn her into one. A sharp needle jabbed into her arm by the doctor, and Iona gasped, her muscles going slack, her brain going foggy.

"N…no…" she breathed out, lids heavy. Her body sagged, her mind gone blank. But the collar made a _click_ as it encircled her neck and she wouldn't have to wonder for long what exactly it was for.

* * *

Iona was good for a while—obedient, compliant. But she couldn't help this inexplicable pull she felt. It wasn't toward a certain person or object or place, but it came from all around, wrestling to get to her very soul. It left her anxious and charged—her body craved…something, whatever it was. She felt like she was wasting away, but she could change it if only she gave in.

One day, despite her better judgment, she did.

She'd read historical documents and accounts of the Jedi of old, of their teachings and practices and ways of life. Meditation was central to their lives, to their control and connection. She didn't believe that she had much in common with the Jedi of old, wasn't even sure she believed in the Force at this point, but she crossed her legs on the floor in front of her bed and thought she wanted to try. Maybe it would help her body wind down, come to peace with itself.

She set her hands on her knees, closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind, to focus, to concentrate on nothingness.

There was a feeling of electricity around her, touching her skin, dancing along her spirit, her life force. All she had to do was reach out and touch it—

Iona screamed. She writhed on the floor, pain searing through her entire body. Her eyes were so wide that they could have fallen out, her screams ripping her throat raw. Her hands scrambled to the collar, prying, trying to take it off, which only made it hurt more, but she persisted.

The bumps she'd noticed inside the collar had elongated and pressed against her skin, sending shockwaves right into her and through her.

She was certain she would die. She hoped she would—the pain was unbearable.

Eventually, exhausted and half-conscious, her fingers fell from the device and her lids drooped, her body started fading, and the device stopped. She let herself breathe again.

It was like it knew, like it could sense when she had tried to reach out and touch the energy.

She passed out there on the floor, too exhausted and broken to move. Had minutes passed, or hours?

Iona had never known this hollow feeling inside, gutted like a fish.

No one even came to check on her.

* * *

The incident happened less frequently once Iona learned all that was evil, all that was bad. When the energy came calling, when her body felt anxious and restless, when something inside of her felt an invisible pull, she shut down. She turned off her mind, turned off her body. She would exist there in that space, empty inside, waiting for it to pass.

Those urges, those feelings—they were evil temptations, demonic possessions. The collar helped her to resist, to turn away, to be good.

Waiting, waiting.

Waiting to one day be able to feel again.

To not be afraid.

* * *

When she was seventeen, her parents threw a gala in their ballroom, and Iona was surprised when she was informed that she would be allowed to attend.

"Me? Are you sure?" she asked the droid.

"Yes. You will be fitted for a dress later this afternoon," it said before leaving.

Iona was stupefied. Why on earth would her parents want her to attend? She was always such an embarrassment to them.

Later that afternoon, when humanoid servants appeared, her mother was there as well. Iona watched her apprehensively.

"Turn around," Mrs. Tarkin instructed, and Iona obeyed almost immediately, missing her mother's proud, smug smirk. "Good girl. Now, listen very closely to what I am about to tell you. Your father and I have decided to let you attend the gala because we certainly cannot have society wonder where our mysterious second daughter is locked away. We also agreed that this will be your trial run." Cold hands were on Iona's neck, above the collar. "If you behave yourself perfectly tonight, we will let you no longer wear this collar. But, should you do anything, _anything_ disgraceful, you will never seen your neck again, do you understand me?"

A shaky breath, the possibility of freedom, of hope, bubbling in her chest painfully. "Yes, Mother." But it was a skeptical thing, a cautious thing. How could she really trust them? Trust that they would be true to their word? Trust that she would be able to comply?

A key was inserted, and suddenly, with a _click_ , the cause of her agony for the previous two years was off, and she turned to the mirror to see her neck unobstructed once more, a thin line of white where the collar had been.

Mrs. Tarkin tisked and rubbed at the back of her neck. "The man had told us it wouldn't leave any lasting visible damage. I'll have to get you something for that. Can't show off a daughter of mine to society with lines on her neck.

Iona didn't mind. She didn't mind anything at the moment, even after her mother left and the servants fit her into a corset after measurements. She was riding a cloud of euphoria and she was determined that nothing would bring her down from this high.

* * *

"Jura?" Iona asked suspiciously as she watched her sister storm into her room. She stood up, instantly on alert. Nothing good ever came from Jura's presence.

"You nasty little beast," Jura spat, stomping over and smacking Iona across the face.

Iona was used to her sister's abuses by now—unexplained, unexpected. She should have anticipated that after the lull recently that a storm was brewing on the horizon.

"I don't understand…"

"You've really done it now, haven't you?"

"What are you talking about?" Iona asked, confused, holding a hand to her injured cheek gently.

"The gala last night," Jura practically yelled. She paced, looking at everything as if she wanted desperately to throw each and every item at Iona.

"What are you talking about?" Iona asked. The gala had gone splendidly, better than she had hoped for. She had been the picture of composure and grace and had done her parents well. She had danced with every man who asked for her hand, had smiled politely and made small talk and hadn't spoken too much. And there were no accidents.

Her neck could breathe freely.

"You ensnared Lorus last night, you slimy, two-faced sea-witch!"

"Jura, I don't even remember who that is," Iona confessed. There had been so very many people last night, more than she had seen in years, perhaps ever. She couldn't possibly remember everyone.

"Don't you dare lie to me! I see how forked your tongue is! How you convinced Mama and Papa to bend to your whims!" Jura spat.

Iona felt afraid. Jura was insane—she was crazy, she must be. Delusional, delirious. Hallucinating.

"If you ever so much as _look_ at him again I will put that collar back on you myself and get you a kennel while I'm at it!" Jura threatened.

"What do you even care for this man? You're already engaged, soon to be wed," Iona reasoned.

"You think I care one credit about that old bag?" Jura said, disgust seeping through every feature on her face. "But, at least I have a promising marriage ahead of me, even if the thought of lying next to him makes me sick. No one would ever make a match with you, and Mama and Papa certainly wouldn't go out of their way to find you someone decent. Who would want to be associated with a _freak_ like you?"

Iona's fists had tightened during Jura's rant, her knuckles white, fingertips digging into her palms so fiercely that they'd pierced the skin. She could feel the blood well up. Iona could also feel that magnetic pull, that urge, that desire.

But she caught herself. She reeled back, almost physically staggered, and took in a short breath. "Jura, I have no interest in whatever man you desire, and I will not stand in your way."

Jura's chin turned up. "Not that you would pose a threat anyways. You need to learn your place." And with that she stormed back out again and Iona breathed deeply, evenly. She sat on her bed and looked down at her hands, still feeling that energy just on the outskirts of her reach, waiting, tempting, calling.

Iona's hand gingerly danced across the skin of her neck.

She would not jeopardize her freedom. Not now. Not ever again.

* * *

As the weeks went by without that collar, then the months, the pull grew stronger and stronger. Iona felt herself growing weak to it, her health suffering from her constant refusal. Yet every time she thought of it, she could feel the phantom shocks from the collar, and she would immediately shut down, shut everything out.

The memory of the pain stayed with her, as if it were fresh from the day before, and try as she might, she never forgot it. Even as memories of childhood faded and were suppressed, the memory of that pain remained. Always there to serve as a reminder.

* * *

Fire, fire, fire everywhere.

Everything burning and destroying and dying.

And yet it was so cold, so cold she was numb and could barely feel herself.

There was chaos and confusion and _oh_ — _so many dead bodies._

She couldn't help but be scared and worried and confused. She didn't want to be alone, and she was searching for something, some _one_ , but she didn't know who. She fled down endless corridors, no life around.

Frantic, panicking, nearly hyperventilating.

She had to find them.

 _Where are you, where are you, where are you?_

She had to find _him._

Adrenaline pumped her legs, warmed her core, kept her hands searching and seeking, grasping and reaching.

In the open, an endless white abyss, a frozen Hell. Ships nearby taking the brunt of the wind and snow.

Figures, in the distance, amidst the chaos.

She knew. It must be.

Running, running. _Don't fall, don't fall_.

There they were, lightsabers and blasters in hand, strangers all and yet familiar.

She knew them. She knew him. But who? _Who, who?_

Frozen to the spot, eyes turning to her.

A choice.

 _Obsidian eyes._

* * *

Iona sat up, eyes wide, sweat clinging her hair to her face, her clothes to her body. A scream was stuck in her throat. Adrenaline still racing through her, fueling her, telling her to run, run, _run._

She took deep breaths to calm herself, looking around. This was her bedroom, this was her bed. She looked down. This was her body.

It was just a dream. A nightmare.

A dream.

She hadn't dreamt in years.

Iona licked her lips, her mouth and throat parched. She made little noises with her mouth, just to make sure that she could still speak, could still hear. Everything in the dream had been muted.

She tried to forget it. It was a wretched nightmare, something her subconscious had thrust upon her. She didn't know where it had come from, what had spurred it on.

It didn't reoccur.

But for a time, whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see and feel were those obsidian eyes burning into hers.

They were familiar but foreign, and she could cry she was so confused.

There lived Death in those eyes.

* * *

 **I have my excuses all ready and waiting on the tip of my tongue for the long absence in between the last chapter and this one. And, here they are, if you care to read them: The first time I saw The Force Awakens, I was actually rather disappointed with it and didn't even care much for it. It took a couple more watchings for it to grow on me. Also, for a while, I despised the character of Kylo Ren and wasn't interested in writing anymore in this fic about him, dispirited. He, too, grew on me for various reasons I won't go into here. I was discouraged from writing any further in this story in general, for one because I was no longer sure about having an OC as the main character (and love interest). Another reason I put this off was because I wanted to get to the present-day action rather than focus on the past, but it was something that needed to be done, and I finally did it.**

 **I hope this chapter and the past have helped shed light on Iona and flesh her out a little more. The next chapter will be back in the present day, picking off from the ending of chapter 3.**

 **Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. I plan on seeing you again soon.**


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